Different Circumstances
by DonutPotter
Summary: Harry was left in an orphanage by the Dursleys. He certainly isn't what Hogwarts expected. No Slash. Will be romance later on, but have not decided with who exactly. Won't be for a while anyway.
1. Prologue

The small, dark-haired boy sat on the edge of the old, worn bed. He looked about nine years old, but was in fact celebrating his eleventh birthday that day. Not that he had gotten any presents anyway, as usual.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the boy stared out of the single, grimy window at it. He brushed an unruly lock of raven hair out of his emerald green eyes. He was wearing baggy, worn clothes that hung off his lithe frame.

The boy was actually sitting in room six of St. Mary's Orphanage, London. He had lived there since he was fifteen months old, when he had been found on the doorstep in a blue blanket and with a note saying his name was Harry, not that anyone called him that. They all called him Bolt because of the peculiar shaped, lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

He was known as a loner in the Orphanage, and though he had been picked on, it stopped when he had been basically adopted by one of the older boys. Unfortunately he wasn't there anymore, but most basically left Bolt to himself.

He was always reading and very rarely spoke. He'd been taken to countless counsellors but he'd just ignored them. The manager of the Orphanage basically gave up on him, and Bolt didn't have a problem with that.

Bolt blinked and rubbed his eyes. Was that something flying towards the window? It drew closer and when Bolt was certain the bird would fly into the window, the window snapped open and a tawny owl swooped in, dropped a letter on Bolt's lap and flew out again, the window shutting behind it.

Not quite registering, Bolt looked at the letter. It had a strange seal and when he turned it over he saw the address was written in green ink. It read:

_Mr. Harry Potter_

_The Sixth Room,_

Corridor One, Floor Two 

_St. Mary's Orphanage,_

_London _


	2. Realisations

Harry opened the letter with trembling hands. Who on earth would be sending a letter to _him_? And one so specifically addressed? And by owl no less!

The opened envelope revealed several bits of parchment, the first one addressed in green ink. It read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July. _

_Yours sincerely,_

Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress 

Harry stared incredulously at the letter for a full ten minute until he reacted. He glanced at the supplies list. _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1? 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi? _It had to be a joke but… it seemed so serious. Who the hell would go to this much effort for a joke? That owl would have had to be trained. And who would have bothered to prank him anyway? It just wasn't worth it!

Harry wanted so much for it to be true. He always knew he was special! He was different! Magic! Wow! He could be someone, and do something! Perhaps his parents were magical? Maybe these people would know something about them?

He remembered the first time he had used magic, or what he knew magic was now. He had been 4 years old…

_Some older kids, about 13 years old, were pushing him around._

"What's the matter? Is ickle Bolt fwightened?" taunted the eldest one, an ugly boy by the name of Fingers. "Come on, boys! Let's show Bolt what fear is!"

_He walked up to Harry and clenched his fist menacingly and took a swing at Harry. His fist never connected though. It seemed to hit an invisible barrier of sorts and there was a nasty crunching sound as what seemed like several of the bones in Fingers' hand seemed to break. He let out a yell and fell to the ground._

_The other kids seemed hesitant to approach Harry and stared with a glint of fear in their eyes at Harry, then their fallen leader, then back to Harry…_

Little Harry spoke up, using all the courage he possessed, "Anyone else want to try?"

_The older boys looked shifty and, picking up their comrade, left without a backward glance. _

_Little Harry let out a sigh of relief, and slid down the wall. Those particular bullies would leave him alone from then on._

There had been other times, he remembered. Like that time he had fallen out of a tree from 15 feet and been miraculously uninjured. Or that time Mr Grant had come in a drunken rage but walked past Harry without laying a finger on him, seemingly not seeing him. He also healed quickly, going to sleep with broken bones and waking up mostly fine. There had been other times but he had dismissed them. Now he knew… now he knew.

He would go to Hogwarts and learn and study hard and become a great wizard. He'd show all the kids at the orphanage! He'd show them he wasn't weak, and he wasn't stupid.

He picked a piece of paper that told him how to find Diagon Alley…

# Hoped you liked it! Thanks for the reviews! I didn't think I'd get any. I'll try to post at least once a week. Sorry my chapters are so short but I'm working it.


	3. The Leaky Cauldron

Bolt awoke early the next morning. The sun was just appearing over the horizon, making the permanent smog that blanketed London glow an orangey colour. Bolt planned to leave early in the morning because less people at the orphanage would question him. He knew there wouldn't be much of a problem, especially since it was the summer holidays and they were basically left to do what they pleased. Still, it wouldn't be helpful if someone got curious.

Last night Harry had spent a long time worrying about money needed to buy school supplies and what he was going to tell Miss Teams, who replaced Mr Grant some years back. Miss Teams was definitely an improvement. Mr Grant used to get very drunk and violent, and Bolt had been heavily relieved when he had retired. Hell, everyone was relieved, but Bolt especially as Mr Grant had a particular dislike of him.

Miss Teams was about fifty years old, and even seemed to care about the younger children. She didn't even try with the older kids, but made sure everyone was in by curfew and stayed out of trouble in school. Bolt didn't blame her for not trying with the teenagers, as most were to far into the bad life to come back out again. She didn't mind Bolt as he was quiet, was always in by curfew (or so she thought), did his tasks, sometimes helped with the little kids and stayed out of trouble.

Bolt was glad that the littler kids had someone like her to look after them, as he knew what it was like to be small and not understand why no looked after them or loved for them or cared for them at all. He remembered when he had been small and, walking through the playground during his first year of school, watching the other kids being picked up by their parents and getting hugged and asked how their day had been. How he had wished someone would ask how his day had been, just shown some interest!

He never cried though. Never. He had learnt long ago that crying was for the weak, and the weak didn't survive. No doubt about it, Bolt was a survivor. The older kid might have called him a loner, but they respected him. He was a devil in a fight, and could take down opponents almost twice his size. Not that he liked to fight, but he could defend himself if the need arose. He was also known as one of the best pickpockets and cat burglars in the orphanage.

Although he didn't really enjoy it, Bolt was quite the thief. He needed money to buy books, extra food, new clothes and stuff that wasn't provided, but Bolt thought necessary. He worked alone. He didn't trust anyone but himself. His fingers were long and perfect for slipping into pockets, especially on crowded underground trains, which were the best spots.

He didn't break into houses much, only when pick pocketing was slow. His small frame and flexibility helped him to slip through windows that were thought to be too small to present a risk if left open. He was also rather good at short-circuiting alarms, after almost being caught one time when an alarm went off. The cops had never caught him, although all the older kids knew that he did it, but none ever grassed.

There were three rules in the orphanage amongst the kids. One was to never grass, whatever that person was doing, another was to not mess with other people's stuff, and, finally, you had to leave the little kids alone. Little kids were usually seven and less. Only messed up people, like Fingers, who had now left, broke these rules. Actually, everyone was messed up, but quietly so.

In the letter Bolt had received, he had learnt more about his pre-orphanage life than he had ever known before. Firstly, his surname was Potter, and, secondly, his parents had been magic users, or wizards. That single letter gave Bolt more hope than he had ever felt in his life. He knew that because he lived in an orphanage and had no one to look out for him, he would have had to try three times as hard as most people to get anywhere. Most kids who left the orphanage ended up in dead-end jobs, thieving or something equally illegal. But Bolt was going to be different. That letter had given him a future, and he was going to fully use it. He would study hard and be the top of the year and get somewhere.

Although his ideas of funds were still a bit sketchy, he figured that perhaps his parents had left him some money. The letter mentioned a Gringotts Bank being in Diagon Alley, and something about a different currency. Even if his parents had no money, he could always break into a few houses.

Soon, Bolt was walking through the streets of London, having memorised the directions to the Leaky Cauldron, which was apparently the entrance to this Diagon Alley. Bolt snorted. Where did these wizards get all these ridiculous names? He had decided to leave the problem of what to tell Miss Team for later. First, he would explore the wizarding world and weigh up his options.

After about fifteen minutes of a brisk pace, Bolt walked out of a side alley onto a still quiet main street, with the first shops beginning to open. It was still only eight after all. Just along the street he could see a grubby looking pub that the few passer-bys obviously couldn't see. That was all the evidence Bolt needed to know that the whole wizard thing was real. The sign above the door read: _The Leaky Cauldron_.

He cautiously walked up to the building and peeked his head around the door. The inside was very shadowy and all made of timber. Behind a large bar that ran the length of the room was a man scrubbing a beer glass, making a squeaking noise. A few people were sitting in tables near the walls eating breakfast, but it was quite quiet. It reminded Bolt of a library, with that stranger eerie silence. He imagined it would be quite the place when full, but it obviously wasn't a breakfast destination. There were stairs leading up to what Bolt imagined would be rooms, but he wasn't sure.

He walked over to the bar and, with his head just above the counter, addressed the barman.

"Excuse me, but could you show me the way into Diagon Alley?" he said, deciding to play the innocent little waif.

Tom's head swung about a bit, looking for the origin of the voice, before finally spotting Bolt. He grinned toothlessly at the boy.

"A first year, eh? Where are your parents?" he said, simply curious.

"They died when I was a baby." Came the blunt reply from Bolt. Although he never knew his parents, he always defended them as he knew they hadn't wanted him to live in an orphanage, lonely and afraid.

"Oh" said Tom, his smile faltering slightly. "I'm Tom by the way."

"I'm Bolt. So…could you show me the way then?"

Tom blushed, having had forgotten the boy's previous question. He nodded eagerly and beckoned the graceful little boy. While leading him to the courtyard, Tom couldn't help but be curious about the boy. The child walked with grace and pride, seeming to be used to being respected. Tom was almost certain that he was a muggle-born, because anyone else would know how to get the Alley, but there was something about the boy that made him different.

He quickly tapped the bricks with his wand and as the magical arch appeared dramatically, he announced, "Welcome, young Bolt, to Diagon Alley!"

He chuckled. The look on Bolt's face was priceless. He had to admit, though, that Diagon Alley was impressive, even to him after a million or so times. He pointed out Gringotts to the poor lad and watched bemusedly as the child walked dazedly through the streets, with eyes as big as dinner plates. The incident, however, soon left his mind as the bar filled up.


	4. Gringotts

Harry stumbled down the street of Diagon Alley, his head spinning in every direction. The place seemed to be buzzing, even this early in the morning, when everything was just opening. Bolt could actually feel the magic around him. He could hear it. It seemed to be singing, and to Bolt the complicated song made complete sense. The soft melody, the strident beats, the fast rhythm, all moving and making a song and dance of the world. The magic was alive! The moment Bolt realised this everything seemed more special, as though the magic was influencing his thoughts.

He spotted a huge book shop, called _Flourish and Blotts_, with signs in the window claiming they had the best prices, the biggest selection and some of the rarest books. He would definitely have to check that shop out. If he went to Hogwarts, he wanted to know just as much as the children brought up in the wizarding. He was at a disadvantage at the moment, but he would change that. He would be brilliant. He would stun everyone with his knowledge, and everyone would wonder how someone with a non-magic upbringing could be so good at magic and know so much.

He saw a shop full of animals, including cats, rats, toads, snakes and some weird animals that Bolt couldn't name. They sang of magic so he figured that they were magical creatures. He wanted an owl, though, as he knew they were the mail carriers of the wizarding world, considering that his Hogwarts letter had come via owl. Hadn't the letter said he should send reply by owl? He reread the letter. Shit! His letter had to be sent yesterday!

What the hell were they thinking, asking for an owl on the same day someone found out about the wizarding world. And he had no one to help him! Couldn't they have sent someone to guide him? Perhaps they didn't know he was in an orphanage? But the letter was addressed to specifically… Although, the letter may have been addressed magically. In fact, Harry could feel a slight humming emanating from the paper. It wasn't as wonderful as the magic on the street, but it seemed to be an imprint of some sort, like a memory of a spell, rather than the actual spell.

Never once did Bolt wonder whether other wizards could hear magic or not. He just thought that everyone could hear it, and that it was just part of everything. He was amazed by it. It seemed to be singing just for him. The only real thought he put to it was jealousy, because most wizards would have been able to feel it their whole lives, or so he thought.

Soon Bolt was on the steps of the huge, white marble building the barman had said was the wizarding bank, Gringotts. Bolt hoped his parents had some sort of money, because it would be a bother to have to steal some money.

The inscription on the huge brass doors made Bolt laugh. Why rob a bank if there are lot of easier things to nick anyway?

Upon entering he inwardly stared in wonder at the huge hall, with the elegant pillars and all the high desks with the strange creatures behind them counting gold, rubies, sapphires and countless other amazingly expensive things. Outwardly, though, his face was one of indifference, as it always was. He had learnt years ago that showing no emotions made people uneasy and gave you the upper hand. A readable face could ruin a business deal and lose a fight.

He walked up to the nearest free desk and stared expectantly at the creature. The name plate read _Boldaxe, Goblin accountant_. So that's what the creatures were. Goblins. Bolt wondered what other supposedly mythical beings existed. The goblin continued to scrawl into a jotter, effectively ignoring Bolt. He wondered what language Boldaxe was writing in, because it definitely wasn't English. He would find out later.

He continued to wait, understanding that this was some sort of test from the goblin. While standing he listened closely to the magic of the goblin. It shared the same beat and rhythm that human magic did, but its sounds were strange, more metallic. Bolt perhaps wondered if this had anything to do with the precious metals the goblins worked with.

After what seemed like forever, but was probably five minutes, Boldaxe looked up. He looked mildly impressed at the waif, and Bolt was glad he was right about the test.

Boldaxe was very curious about the child. He was quite small, with messy black hair that seemed to almost swallow the light, it was so dark, and the most piercing green eyes. For a goblin they meant emeralds, and ones of great worth. What was very strange, though, was that it was a young boy, wearing muggle clothing that looked nothing more than rags and all by himself, and knowing what was expected when dealing with a goblin! Never in all the time that Boldaxe had worked in the human relations part of Gringotts had he encountered someone who hadn't just strolled up and taken him for granted. Except perhaps Albus Dumbledore, but he was an exception.

"Yes?" enquired the goblin, in what Harry thought was a stuck up manner. "How may I help you?"

"Please, Sir", said Harry, trying to be as respectful as possible so as not to make a bad impression. "I was wondering if I had a vault here?"

"How could you not know? You either have one or you don't! Stop wasting my time!" But seeing the disappointed look on the face of the boy he had been so impressed by made him feel some sympathy.

"What is your name? At least I'll check that much."

Harry's face brightened up considerably. Even though it was unlikely he still had a chance to find out. "Harry Potter" he said, noting the shock on the goblin's usually hard to read face. Perhaps he did have a vault?

The goblin fumbled around for a bit, before finding a piece of yellowed, old parchment. He scrutinised it for a second, and then looked once again at Harry (by this point he had started to think of himself as Harry. It seemed to give him some sort of identity). He finally pulled out a golden plate.

"Put your hand on this. It will tell me if you are really who you say you are."

Harry placed his hand on the plate, and it seemed to glow, and he felt a tingly feeling, like pins and needles. The plate seemed to melt then reform, leaving on it a detailed, of which Bolt could understand nothing. The goblin stared at the plate for almost a minute, surprise evident in its eyes. It simply could not believe this was Harry Potter. Surely he would be with someone? Oh well.

"Griphook!" he called. "Please take Mr Potter down to his vault." He handed Griphook, another goblin who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, a small key. He then turned back to Bolt.

"After the vault has been opened Griphook will give you a key. You must always bring this key with you if you wish to make3 further withdrawals from your Gringotts account. Understood?"

Bolt nodded. He realised this was additional advice the goblin would not normally give and so was glad. Griphook motioned for him to follow and so he did.

They walked down some corridors and soon left the huge, proud marble halls and entered tunnels carved out of the rock and lit with lanterns that hung from the ceilings. It was how Bolt might have imagined a mine- dark and dirty.

They reached a row of carts attached to a set of tracks. The tunnels disappeared into darkness before Bolt could see where they went or even turned. Griphook's face curved into a devilish smile and instructed him to get into the cart. Griphook's expression unnerved him slightly, but he still got in.

That first ride in a Gringott's was something Bolt would never forget. It was probably the most exhilarating thing he had ever experienced up until then in his life. It turned and twisted, leaving his stomach miles behind on the track, and they passed huge rock formations and caverns. Every so often they would pass some doors, but he would only get a fleeting glance. He thought he saw something breathing fire, but he wasn't sure. It wasn't anything dangerous surely? This was a bank for goodness sake! But then he remembered the warning on the door. This place must surely have some real great stuff worth stealing.

When the cart finally stopped by a door that looked thoroughly disused he asked Griphook, "What kind of protections guard this place?"

"Why?" asked griphook with his crooked smile. " Not thinking of stealing anything are you? For your sake, I hope not."

Bolt shook his head. "I just thought I saw something…" and heard something he added to himself, as a strange magic played in his ears.

"You would be foolish to try anything. There are dragons guarding the oldest vaults, and wards everywhere. If you tried to open a door you would get stuck inside. We only check the vaults every ten years." He gave a strange chuckle, and Bolt gulped uncertainly. That would _not _be pleasant. The strange music he heard must have been the wards, always meshing over each other, forming a hugely intricate web.

While thinking Griphook placed the tiny key into an equally tiny keyhole and had turned it. Whilst the door clinked away, he could hear the magic deactivating to a more passive level, still there but not overly harmful.

What he saw inside the vault took his breath away. There were piles of gold, silver, and bronze. Enough, Bolt thought, to last forever. Or so it seemed. It glinted in the lantern light and he just stared in shock. Griphook seemed pleased at his appreciation, standing smugly and looking proud.

"Is this a lot?" he asked breathlessly.

"Enough to last you through seven years of Hogwarts, yes" said the goblin.

Bolt nodded and scooped up about two hundred of the gold pieces and a few silver and bronze pieces.

"What are they called?"

The goblin looked at him strangely and replied " The gold ones are galleons, the silver are sickles and the bronze knuts."

The journey back from the vault left Bolt in silence. He was just stunned by how much money he had.

A few minutes later found Bolt standing in the glorious morning sunshine. The day promised to be clear, blue and stunning: a classic English summer day. All the shops were now open and the first shoppers were already milling about. The air was cleaner in Diagon Alley than the rest of London, Bolt thought.

He looked at the school list and decided he would go and get his potions supplies and then perhaps some breakfast. He wandered the street and soon spotted the apothecary. He had only been in the street for less than an hour but he could feel himself falling for it. The lively music of its magic, the friendly atmosphere, the colourful store fronts.

The apothecary was cool, quiet and shadowy, a huge contrast to the outside. Bolt found it a peaceful rest. He asked the shopkeeper for a standard potions kit and then left.

Spotting an ice cream shop on the other side of the street, with a proprietor called Florean Fortescue, he strolled over. He sat down at one of the small tables that were set in the sun, pulled of his jumper, put his bag at his feet and enjoyed the sunshine. Soon a jolly looking, fifties looking man wearing an apron and a smile strolled up.

"What can I do for you today, young man?"

"Could I have a deluxe raspberry and chocolate sundae please?"

"Sure you can! I'm Florean Fortescue, jolly nice to meet you!"

Bolt couldn't help but smile back. "I'm Harry. Nice to meet you!" He thought it would be good to start thinking of himself as Harry, since that was his name.

"Nice to meet you Harry! First year I suppose? Well, I hope you enjy your visit!"

"Thank you sir, I'm sure I will sir"

As Harry ate his ice cream watching the bustle of Diagon Alley, he contemplated his first real discussion with a wizard. He wondered if everything else would go as well.

His next stop was Madame Malkin's Fine Robes for all Occasions. What more could happen on this amazing day?


	5. Diagon Alley

**Disclaimer: **I don't any of the characters or places. They belong to JK Rowling.

As Harry entered Madam Malkin's he noticed two important things. There were five people in the shop, not including him, and one of them had the most complicated music he had heard so far.

He couldn't hear his own music, which annoyed him, but from other peoples' magic he had worked out that the more complicated the tune, the more powerful the person. He could focus in on one person or object to hear them better, but if he didn't it all just mixed into a quiet hum in the background.

Madam Malkin came and greeted him, then put him on a stool and began to fit him to robes when she heard he was going to Hogwarts. Her music was average, but seemed to have more of a pattern to it, which Harry imagined highlighted her skill with clothing. A shop worker was fitting another boy next to him. Neither had the amount of power and skill he had sensed when entering the shop, although he knew that the boy would be formidable with practice. Before he could identify the source of power, the boy said,

"Hogwarts, are you?"

"Yes."

"What house do you think you'll be in? I'm probably going to be in Slytherin. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad I suppose, but imagine being in Hufflepuff! Eugh."

"Yes, I suppose so." Was all Harry could due to the fact he knew nothing about what the boy was saying. The boy was blonde and seemed to think he was better than Harry, which Harry did not take kindly too. He hoped that not everyone at Hogwarts was like that.

Just then a man with long, straight, white-blonde hair walked over. He was obviously the boy's father, but he was also the powerful presence Harry had felt. He raised his guard.

"Draco, you must not let your mouth run away with you now. It is not the proper etiquette now, is it? I doubt you have even asked this boy his name."

His voice was silky and sinister and as he said this he looked Harry up and down, a calculating look on his regal features.

"Oh" said the boy, looking rather putdown. He turned back to Harry. "My name is Draco Malfoy of the house of Malfoy, and this is my father, Lucius Malfoy of the house of Malfoy." Draco looked at him expectantly, and Harry had a horrible feeling this was an important test of sorts.

Luckily, he was saved when the lady declared Draco was done and dragged Malfoy Senior over to the counter, with Malfoy Junior following, and Harry forgotten. Harry sighed in relief. He was glad he did not have the chance to make an enemy of the most powerful wizard he had met so far. Then again, he considered, he had not met many wizards.

Ten minutes later, his face a mask of passivity, he walked out of the robes shop, a package under his arm. He consulted the list from his pocket. He had his robes and potions equipment. He still needed a telescope, numerous books, stationary, a wand and an animal if he wished it.

Soon he had left the small stationery shops with quills, ink and parchment. He quietly wondered why wizards would use such a primitive form of writing materials. With magic shouldn't they be more advanced than non-magic folk? He had also bought a backpack in the store that claimed to be virtually weightless and could apparently hold many times its volume. So far this claim had proved correct, and Harry couldn't help but marvel. Wizards had it so easy!

Fifteen minutes later Harry entered the large bookstore he had seen on the way to the bank, the one called _Flourish and Blotts_. He had just purchased a rather nice looking telescope he had spotted at the back of the little shop called _Stargazer's_. He had to restrain himself from buying a miniature galaxy, and plenty of other devices, but could not help to linger.

He had really been looking forward to visiting the bookshop, for Harry truly enjoyed learning and reading. He had taught himself to read at the age of four, beginning when he hid in a store cupboard in the basement for a day, finding many dusty old learner's textbooks. It was his knowledge and aptitude of putting that knowledge into practice that meant he was respected and quite high in the chain of command in the orphanage.

It was at an early age he had realised knowledge meant power, and that pushed his learning all the more. But the best thing about it, Harry thought, was that he _felt _himself moving up in the world every time he put down another finished book. He would show them, oh yes! And what better place to start than at a bookshop?

Although Harry may sound selfish, ambitious and ruthless, he also believed in chivalry, nobility and good. Not that he would ever admit it. He thought it made him weak, so he kept hidden, but it was always there, effecting his decisions always.

He perused the bookshop for over two hours, selecting all the schoolbooks required, but many more also. He bought all the standard book of spells series, many spell, curse and hex books, several potion volumes that enticed him, and almost all the transfiguration books. The idea of changing one thing into another intrigued him so much he grabbed all the books on the subject he could find, including _Beginning, Intermediate, _and _Advanced Transfiguration_, _Animagi: Animal Ascension_ and _Metamorphagi: Challenging Changes_.

He bought several bestiaries, including a rather expensive one with detailed pictures. In the history section he almost lost it, buying as many information filled books on the wizarding world as he could. He also bought a few random tomes that caught his eye, in particular _Ye_ _Occlumency and Legilimency: In ye minde's eye. _A book that he thought would be incredibly useful was _Hogwarts, A History_. He also found a book called _The Feats of Albus Dumbledore_ which had caught his eye since flicking through he had found a moving picture (apparently all pictures moved) of a huge duel in a battle field. Not to mention he had wanted to know more about his headmaster.

Harry was glad hardly anyone was in the shop, as he imagined the sight of a small, rumpled boy wheeling around a stack of books that was larger than he on a trolley must have been quite strange. The cashier certainly gave him a strange look, as though doubting he could afford all this by himself. He simply gave the man the look he had used a thousand times, which said, don't doubt, don't ask questions and keep working. It was a very intimidating look, and for some strange reason even more intimidating on the face of an eleven year old, probably due to the fact that it didn't really belong there, that look, and that made it creepier, something so innocent marred by such a thing. Anyway, it definitely spooked the cashier, as he sped up and didn't say a thing.

Harry packed all the books in his backpack, quietly paid the substantial sum of one hundred and three galleons, seven sickles and twelve knuts. He then walked serenely out of the door, the puzzled and slightly fearful eyes of the dim-witted cashier following him. The stupid man thought he had just served a vampire or demon of some kind.

Almost too quickly for his liking, Harry found himself done with almost all the items on the list. He had bought a chest, which seemed to be the favourite storage item for the average wizard. He couldn't help but think that wizards were somehow still living in the dark ages.

The only things left on the list were a wand and, optionally, an animal. He would buy an animal later, because he was incredibly curious about wands and magic, and creating it himself. It was the one thing he had been looking forward to the most, but he had deliberately left it until almost last. He did things like that, denying desirables, to keep himself disciplined, as he knew he was the only one who had control over himself, and so someone had to set boundaries.

It took a while to locate the wand shop, as it was rather small, dull and generally very inconspicuous altogether. It was called ­_Ollivanders: Makers of fine wands_. Harry was in fact worried as to whether it was the best choice, but as he couldn't and hadn't seen any others he walked in, quietly gathering his wits and inspecting his surroundings.

It was a very dusty place, with a lot of shelving holding what seemed to Harry like thousands and thousands of boxes. Each box was rectangular, and just as dusty as the last. The grubby window held one open box in the display, and inside the box was a polished and carved stick. Harry laughed internally. A stick in a dirty little box gave you magic? But then again he could hear the faint magic of it…

On the mahogany desk was an old fashioned bell, of the type that went "Ping!" when you pressed it. Harry pressed it, and almost, just almost, flinched when the intrusive sound vibrated in the empty room. Harry didn't like it; it was too much like a library.

The whole place was humming with the wands' magic. It was quite faint, considering that you needed a wizard to actually use the wand, therefore it held only the remnants of spells cast and the magic of the core.

Harry spun round suddenly, sensing a presence, or more like _hearing_ a presence. It was strange, the hearing magic thing. It bothered Harry a bit that he had no control over it. He knew he would learn, and he would find it incredibly useful, but right now it was definitely strange. He hadn't even thought about it as he spun round. His instincts had simply told him to.

His instincts had been right. There was a man standing there, looking as dusty and grey as his shop. But Harry knew that was merely a façade for this man. He had power, he could tell. A strange magic though, as though this man wasn't entirely human. And Harry could tell it was very _old _magic as well. How he could tell, he didn't know, he just knew. The magic of this man swirled in complicated stanzas, and it seemed to tell a story of time, ancient and unrelenting. Yes, Harry was certain- this man wasn't entirely human.

The man, too, was eyeing him curiously. He had strange coloured eyes; as though he had spent so much time working with wands so that they had turned the colour of wood. They were very penetrating too, and it unnerved Harry that this man, Ollivander he supposed, was sending him a look he so often used on others himself.

"Mr Potter, I presume?" the man asked, his voice like the creaking boards of the floor.

Harry nodded. "Mr Ollivander, I presume?" he replied, appearing cool and unfazed, although inwardly wondering how this man knew his name.

The man, too, nodded. "I must say, Mr Potter," as he moved round to behind the counter, "You are the first in a very long time to have been aware of my approach." He again made eye contact with Harry again, with a questioning look.

Harry chose not to reply, saying, "How did you know my name?"

"I have worked in this shop a very long time, Mr Potter. Wands are my business. Almost every child that has ever passed through Hogwarts has been carrying an Ollivander's wand. It is therefore also my business to know the names of all the children who shall visit my shop. Besides, you are the spitting image of your father. But those eyes, they are your mother's eyes…"

Harry looked up sharply at the mention of his parents. He said, trying not to sound concerned, "You knew my parents?"

Ollivander looked vaguely amused. "Did I not just say that almost every child that has gone to Hogwarts has been in this shop? Your father's wand was very good at transfiguration, as I recall, while your mother's favoured charms. What shall you favour I wonder?"

Without further ado he began measuring Harry, then, after asking which hand he favoured (right), he left the tape measure measuring itself, and began picking wands from the shelves, stacking them on the counter.

Soon Harry was standing waving wands, feeling quite ridiculous. Mostly, as soon as he had grasped a wand, Mr Ollivander would snatch it from his grasp. Strangely enough, the more wands he worked through, the happier the old man seemed to be.

Finally, after Harry had tried what felt like all the wands in the shop, Ollivander stopped and studied Harry then began reaching for the highest shelf.

"I wonder", he murmured, "I wonder". Harry couldn't help but sigh in irritation, but then, realising how loud it was, hoped the man was well distracted.

The man came back holding a wand box almost reverently. He carefully took the wand from the box and handed it to the boy, and then, rather hastily it seemed to Harry, stepped quite a bit back.

The wand was about average length, and a brownish colour, darker than some wands. It had a grip engraved with a phoenix and Harry couldn't help holding it reverently himself. To him it was beautiful. Simple, but beautiful. And the sound it made… It too was simple but it seemed to suit him. Well, almost. It felt like a shirt that was slightly to small, so that it didn't _matter _but you could always _tell_.

He gave it a wave and immediately he felt a huge amount of power flowing through his veins, like it had replaced his very blood, and it was now the power that was sustaining his life force. He breathed deeply, hearing music sift around him, like an orchestra was right there. He knew that it was his own magic. And it was powerful, very powerful.

In front of his eyes sparks of every colour were flying out of the tip of the wand. It was amazing. It stopped after a minute though and Harry was left standing, staring at the tip of the wand. _His _wand.

Mr Ollivander, too, was staring. "That is the wand for you Mr Potter. No doubt. That was the most marvellous display I have seen in all my years! It's strange, though. I feel I should tell you, that that wand holds a phoenix feather. The phoenix gave only two feathers. The other feather, I'm afraid to say, was put in the wand that gave you that scar."

Harry stared. Someone gave him his scar _intentionally_? And with a wand? And how did Mr Ollivander know about his scar? It was covered with his hair. He decided not to say anything, so as Ollivander wouldn't know the extent of his ignorance.

"It doesn't feel quite right, like it would be fine, but it could be better…"

"Oh yes?" said Ollivander, looking curious. "Yes, I could tell from the display, but I wondered if you could. I'm afraid, Mr Potter, that there is nothing in this shop that would help. Perhaps something will appear in time."

Harry nodded, just wanting to get out the shop. He quickly settled the account and walked out, feeling Ollivander's eyes on him.

The street was really bustling and Harry noted in shock it was already eleven o' clock. He only had one thing to get now. An animal. He had decided on an owl, considering that it would also be able to send a letter.

He entered a very interesting pet shop, too engrossed in the window display to register the name. Inside there were owls of all shapes, including tiny ones, huge eagle ones, brown ones, black ones… The list went on. There was a whole wall of caged cats, sleeping, watching and clawing. More exotic animals, like turtles, snakes and things Harry couldn't even identify were dotted around the shop. Rats were prancing in cages and a strange snail looking creature puffed smoke in his face.

Immediately a pure white snowy owl caught his eye. It had amber eyes, but when he went up to stroke it as soon as his hand made contact the eyes turned green, the same green as _his_ eyes. Harry stared. He knew he would buy this owl. It was perfect.

After an awkward conservation with the owner, in which the befuddled woman said she swore the eyes had been a different colour. On the way out, Harry stopped at the snakes. There were some very colourful ones, which Harry was certain you wouldn't find in the real world. As he walked through the door he swore he could hear one say "That's the one. We'll hear more about him, mark my words."

That evening Harry sent a mail to Hogwarts saying he would go. As he watched the owl, which he had yet to name, fly over the smoky buildings and chimney pots, he pondered the events of the day. His wand, Mr Ollivander, the snake, Draco Malfoy, Gringotts, Lucius Malfoy, and most of all MAGIC! It existed! Harry knew that he was going somewhere, and that somewhere would be exciting, adventurous and wonderful. With that he cracked open a book and set to work.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Little did Harry Potter know that back at Hogwarts the place was in pandemonium. Hagrid had been sent to collect the saviour of the wizarding world, the boy who lived, from his relatives' house, only to find he wasn't there. A meeting of the Headmaster, Hagrid himself, and all the heads of houses had been called.

"I'm afraid to say," said the great Albus Dumbledore, "That, as I've learned from Hagrid and Mr and Mrs Dursley, Harry Potter has spent the last ten years of his life in a muggle orphanage."

There was a stunned silence amongst the teachers. Just then, a white owl swooped in, depositing a letter and swooping back out.


	6. Preparation

Sorry it took so long to update. I'm just lazy. It's winter soon though so I'll stay in more I think, so that means more updates probably. Thanks for all the reviews! They've been really helpful and have wanted to make me write more.

Disclaimer- I don't own any of the characters or places in this story. They all belong to JK Rowling, who is now incredibly rich thanks to them. Sigh.

Almost four weeks later and Harry Potter was once again sitting on his bed watching the smoky London sunset. This time, though, he was much more excited. Tomorrow he was going to Hogwarts, and getting his first real introduction into the wizarding world.

He had spent the last weeks studying and preparing himself. He was going to be ready. He swore to himself that nobody would think he was inferior. He would be as knowledgeable as the wizarding kids, and even if he wasn't he wouldn't let himself show it.

He had all his schoolbooks practically memorised, as well a lot of the books he had bought himself. The subjects he was looking forward to most were transfiguration and charms, since they seemed to involve the most spell work. Defence against the Dark Arts didn't look so bad either.

Potions seemed like complicated cooking, although some of the effects looked rather interesting.

Herbology was gardening, except on a slightly more adventurous scale. Harry was pretty certain it wouldn't interest him too much.

He had tried some simple spells, like the levitating spell and the colour change spell. He had also tried some transfiguring, beginning with, as the book had, matches to needles. He found that quite easy after a while and so continued to harder things. He got as challenging as changing books into different books. He wasn't very impressed with the things they transfigured in the beginner book, but the more advanced books were definitely intriguing. He couldn't wait until he got to the level of Albus Dumbledore, as some of the things in the book _The Feats of Albus Dumbledore _were incredible.

It was the history books that shocked him the most, though. He was famous! He hadn't even known who he was until a mouth ago and yet he had been famous practically his entire life. Well in the wizarding world anyway. He wasn't entirely sure how famous, but the books seemed to make him out as a hero of sorts.

Apparently, when he was 15 months old, the Dark Lord Voldemort had attacked his home. Voldemort was an evil wizard who tortured and terrorised the wizarding and muggle world for about a decade before he was born. Anyway, Voldemort had killed his parents and moved to kill him. The spell somehow backfired and instead of him dieing, Voldemort did, or disappeared. The "innocent Harry Potter" (Harry had almost gagged at that) was only left with a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. The book, however, or any book at that, failed to mention how the great hero of the wizarding world, or the _boy-who-lived _ended up in a crappy, dead-end muggle orphanage.

He had learnt more of his parents anyway. They were called James and Lily, and he had lived in Godric's Hollow with them. They had been a big part in the fight against Voldemort as well, and had been symbols of hope, courage and light for the average. Harry was proud. They too had wanted to defend the weak and wronged. Perhaps he would be a defender too. He had thought it weakness before, but perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it was strength.

The book on occlumency and legilimency had been very eye opening. He had begun to build walls around his mind, as it seemed wizards could read the thoughts of others if they trained. Harry most _certainly_ did not want people in his head. The technique, strangely, also helped his ability with hearing magic. He could now tell roughly how long ago a spell was cast, and could tell what a spell did. He suspected he would be able to tell what a person was best at as well, but being in a muggle orphanage it was rather difficult to come across wizards to practice upon.

What had really changed his day-to-day life at the orphanage was his owl, whom he had decided to name Hedwig. She was wonderful. His first ever friend. When she was there she made his room more homely, and even when she wasn't there he could sense her. That must have had something to do with the whole eye change thing. The wizarding world was definitely going to take some getting used to.

He had packed all his things hours before. He had set out his clothes for the morning, uncertain as to whether he was meant to wear his robes. To be sure, he put his robes at the top of his trunk so he could get them easily if need be. Harry was nervous, and kept double and triple checking his room, even though he knew he had already checked. Anyway, he had done a summoning charm, and nothing had flown into his grasp. Magic was proving to be very useful.

His one main worry had been what to say to Ms Teams. He could just imagine it- "Umm, Ms Teams, I'm gonna be away for nine months since I'm magic, 'parently. See you next year." Somehow he didn't think it would fly. However, magic once again saved the day.

He had been looking through books, procrastinating, when he found the solution. It mentioned a spell that could make a piece of paper look like anything to convince someone of something. It could look like a letter or a certificate or anything. It would be perfect to solve the solution.

The book, unfortunately, had only mentioned the incantation, and not the wand movement. He had searched many other books but to no avail. In the end he decided to give it a go. His will and intention would help, surely? And so he had tried, and there had been a blinding flash. The paper had looked the same, but he risked it anyway.

Two days before he had approached Ms Teams, who had just returned to her office looking harassed. Apparently Splinter had been caught shop-lifting. Harry sighed when he heard that. Some things never changed.

"Ms Teams?" he said evenly. He had decided on the innocent, quiet persona.

"Yes, Bolt? What is it? I'm rather bust right now." She replied without looking up from some forms she was filling out.

"I got a letter yesterday. I seem to have won a place at a school in Scotland, but I can come back later…" he trailed off. Ms Teams always felt bad if she felt she was ignoring someone. Manipulation at its finest was Harry.

"No no, Bolt, that won't do. Did you get a letter, dear? Do show me. Wouldn't it be nice if it's real?"

Harry wordlessly handed over the spelled paper, hoping it would work. To him it looked blank, but Ms Teams was reading it avidly. Harry would have prayed, but he didn't believe in any god. Too many years in a hellhole did that to you. Finally, Ms Teams looked up.

"It seems you have been accepted to a school. Strange I've never heard of it…but this seems to explain everything. Well, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't go, but I would like to see a letter when you get there. It's very convenient you can go by train, isn't it?"

Harry owed magic big time. The paper totally worked. Not that Ms Teams was that assiduous anyway, but he had needed documentation of some sort. In just a day he was going to be free of St. Mary's Orphanage, and out in the real world full of magic and power. It was going to be brilliant.

And so, almost exactly four weeks after he found out about magic, Harry Potter lay down to sleep dreaming of flying trains, green flashes and echoing, high pitched laughter.

# I'm still not at Hogwarts! Next time though, I promise. There will be the train ride and the sorting and maybe more. I know this was mostly boring, but I felt it necessary for the story.


	7. The Hogwarts Express

Don't own anything.

Sorry took so long to update but I'm lazy.

As the early morning sun rose over the hills, illuminating the many towers and spires of the castle of Hogwarts and reflecting beams on the lake, a man stood at the window of one of the tallest towers, surveying the view below him.

The window was open, letting the summer breeze, fresh with the scent of newly mown grass and spring flowers, blow gently into the graceful office.

The man was very old, with a long white beard and equally long white hair. His face was wrinkly and aged, and a crooked, prominent nose gave character. The man was tired, and sighed deeply, the weight of the world seeming to rest on his shoulders.

The man breathed in the sweet air, worry clearly etched on his face. The man was Albus Dumbledore, and as the sun alighted the world that early morning on September 1st, his thoughts were purely on the year to come.

What would the first years be like? Would the school remain as divided as before? Would the fragile peace of the last ten years continue to remain?

Mostly, though, his thoughts were of one boy in particular. One that he had seen a long time ago, one that used to tug on his beard happily and giggle, one that used to be the apple in his parents' eyes- one that had spent the last ten years of his life alone.

Albus Dumbledore sighed once more, as a beautiful red bird flew towards the open window, singing of hope.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry Potter was also watching the birth of the new day, but from a different place. His dull orphanage room had been stripped bare, with just a large trunk sitting on the bed, and Harry himself, staring out of the window.

Today was the day, he thought to himself. The day that would bring his new life. Harry couldn't remember ever being this unsure about a new situation. He had always been cool and calm, but today he was feeling distinctly nervous.

Take it all in your own stride, he told himself. It'll be fine. He hauled up his trunk, which was spelled to be lighter, otherwise there was no way he could have lifted it.

An hour later found young Harry Potter approaching King's Cross Station. He had taken a bus, and was now striding through to the main hall. He had been there before, but not to travel. He had hardly ever been out of London, actually, with just a few trips to the fading holiday resorts of Brighton and Blackpool, spending the nights in board like B & B beds, and the days eating soggy chips and further vandalising the old pier games.

He had read from the book _Hogwarts, A History_ that to get onto the Hogwarts Express you had to get onto Platform 9 ¾. Harry had once again laughed at the ridiculousness of wizards. Nonetheless, he had read on and discovered you had to walk between platforms 9 and 10 to get there. However, being always on guard and careful, Harry had decided to watch the crossing for a while. Grabbing a newspaper from a bin, he opened it fully and sat on a bench, inwardly chuckling at his classic James Bond spy routine.

For a few minutes nothing happened, until, quite loudly, a large group of people, with the reddest hair he had ever seen, clattered into the building, three trolleys between the bunch of them. There had to be at least… six of them.

Harry quickly made analysis, glancing surreptitiously over the newspaper, which, he noted with disgust, was the _News of the World_. They had to be a family- that much he knew from the hair, the similar mismatched clothing and the familiarity amongst them. There was a short, round mother, looking harassed and dragging a small daughter behind her. The girl was obviously the youngest, and Harry doubted she was old enough to go Hogwarts. There was a set of identical twins, who seemed to be laughing at something that Harry couldn't determine. The two were so similar that to an unobservant eye it would have been very difficult to establish which was which. Harry however, quickly recognised that one walked with a slightly longer gait, and the other had a slightly straighter nose. There was a young, petulant looking boy, who Harry couldn't imagine being much older than himself, and another older boy, who seemed to not want to be there.

The group finally filtered through the barrier, Harry watching with concealed awe as each person vanished into seemingly solid matter. Another he had noticed was that their magic played quite audibly in his ears. The mother was a good all rounder it seemed, but not very powerful. The twins would pack a punch one day, Harry could tell. There magic was identical, as well, which was fascinating. The elder had a very meticulous music, quite boring really, but not altogether poor. The youngest boy was difficult to tell. He had the most powerful magic of the boys, though closely followed by the twins, but it was very unrefined, and this further supported Harry's theory that it was his first year at Hogwarts. His magic was complicated, but wild and with no defined rhythm.

The girl, however, was the most puzzling. Her music was dazzling, but there was something very strange about it. Harry couldn't pinpoint it, but he was with no doubt that she would far surpass the others on the basis of power, though he knew that there was more to magic than power; you need skill also.

The small girl was also the last to pass through the barrier, wandering close behind the mother hen. Just before she disappeared, she looked Harry straight in the eye, the brown orbs swimming with curiosity. Harry watched her go, and thought to himself- I'll have to watch that one…

He waited another few minutes, and a further few people drizzled through the station onto the wizarding platform, none aware they were being watched. Once Harry felt certain that he had seen enough he re-binned the newspaper, hoisted up his trunk, and, as though he had done it a thousand times, strode through the barrier.

What was on the other side made him pause a moment, just to give himself time to absorb it all. There was a brilliant scarlet engine, like the models he saw in shop windows, and lots of children everywhere, mulling about and boarding the train, or talking to parents.

Quietly, making sure not to lose his cool mask, he slid onto the train and padded along the worn carpet until he reached an empty compartment. Carefully stowing his trunk, he lowered himself onto a remarkably comfortable seat, and then, finally, he let himself concentrate on the music.

It was remarkable. He had forgotten how wonderful Diagon Alley had been, and in many ways this was better. There was a much greater variation, and he was able to discern better due to his experience. He could hone in on one person to see what they were good at, how powerful they were, and how trained they were, or he could just soak up the atmosphere as a whole. The train itself was also imbued with magic, and it was _old_. He could imagine this train having run children to and from Hogwarts for decades.

Outside he observed families bidding farewell, and knew that many years ago he would have felt sadness and remorse, but now he felt nothing. He dealt with his lot, and he had convinced himself that he should be jealous of no one.

The red haired family had obviously embarked onto the train, leaving the mother and small girl behind on the platform. The girl looked sad, and said something about wanting to go to Hogwarts herself. So Harry was right. She was too young. Next year though, and then it would be interesting to watch. He heard the mother call her Ginny, and stored the information away for later use.

He heard her brother settle next door, and soon the train was pulling away from the platform. The little girl tried vainly to run and keep up, but it was hopeless. As the train gained speed, the girl made eye contact with him once more. As he lost sight of her, he sat back, wondering about this new adventure. He lolled into sleep, careful to remain half aware though, rolling her name off his tongue drowsily, "Ginny…"


	8. The Sorting

When Harry woke it was dark outside, and the train was slowing. He blinked and stretched, surprised that he had slept so long and so deep.

'I must have been more tired than I thought' he muttered to himself, as he rooted through his trunk for robes. He had seen the prefects in their robes earlier and so figured he would need to change before the train stopped, which it would any moment.

Once robed and properly awake, Harry had a look outside. There were some lights of what seemed to be a small village, but it was hard to tell any detail in the darkness. Harry was annoyed with himself for falling asleep. He needed to keep his guard up and stay aware of his surroundings.

Soon the train rolled to a stop and he could hear movement in the corridor. He presumed he had to leave his stuff on the train and so, with a quick glance at Hedwig, green eyes meeting green eyes, he slipped into the bustling corridor.

There were a lot of students piling out of doors onto a lit platform. Almost all of them were taller than him, Harry noticed, and once again cursed the stupid people that had failed to feed him properly.

He got onto the platform fairly quickly and began to wonder what to do when he heard a booming voice go,

"Firs' years! All firs' years o'er 'ere! Firs' years!"

Harry's eyes followed the sound and he stared at the huge man. Stepping into the group of huddled eleven years old, he watched a bit more discretely. This man was enormous! And his magic…it was strange. Diluted almost, like watered down juice. What a strange world he was entering. Was the man some sort of half-breed? A cross between a person and a troll, or an ogre, or a giant? He had the beard of a dwarf as well, which confused Harry no end, not that he showed that at all on his passive face.

He observed his fellow "firs' years" surreptitiously. He saw Draco Malfoy, standing out with his white-blond hair, as well as the red haired boy from King's Cross Station. There were many others, none particularly standing out as powerful in any sense, but all had potential. A rather bushy-haired girl, who wouldn't stop talking, seemed to be one of the more obvious candidates for power, but Harry had learnt that magic had many layers, and he could only fully evaluate magic with time. Still, a first listen did provide some insight.

The giant of a man drew himself up and said, "Right. Seems we got everyone. I'm Hagrid, by the way. Keeper o' th' keys and Groundskeeper at 'ogwarts. Follow me. Keep up"

He began talking gigantic strides up a path that was only dimly lit by the lantern in his hand. The small first years almost had to jog to keep up.

Harry remained on the edge of the group, carefully monitoring the situation. He couldn't help but notice a rather round faced boy almost crying, and stumbling next to him. Harry first tried to ignore him, but the boy's face screwed up more, and he couldn't stand it any further. Weakness was something he detested.

"Are you alright?" he ventured, hoping the boy would refuse any help.

The boy looked at him nervously, his eyes watering slightly. "I can't find my toad. My gran's going to kill me!" By the end of the outburst the boy was panicking.

Harry quickly tried to calm him down. He hated people losing their heads and distressing everything. He got his wand out and quickly used a spell he had read about in one of his spell books. "Accio toad!"

The toad quickly whizzed towards him from some shadowy corner. He quickly thrust it into the boys flailing arms and walked off fast. He didn't even think about the fact that he had performed a fourth year charm effortlessly on the first go. God, what a mess! Harry thought. That kid would die in real life. He isn't very magical either.

Harry didn't get involved. That was his rule. If someone was having a hard time then fine, he should help. But that didn't make him friends with that person. He had no friends.

They walked around a hill and came to the shores of a vast loch, reflecting the moons silvery beams. The most impressive thing about the sight, however, was the great castle rested a top a hill on the other side of the loch. It was outlined in moonlight, and from every window gleamed warm, orange light. It was spectacular.

Harry revelled in his first view of Hogwarts. It was magnificent! It looked immense, with lots of towers and turrets and gantries and halls. With held breath, and concealed awe, he stepped into the boats the giant man had told them to pile into. The toad boy, the bushy haired girl and a dark boy, who Harry thought was called Zabini, followed him, completing their quad.

Soon the boats set off into the still water, powered by a simple trigger spell, Harry could tell. He could hear voices, but was glad that no one in his boat was talking. Even the bushy haired girl had shut up.

Harry continued to stare at Hogwarts, but he was also beginning to hear it. It was like the opening to a concierto. One by one melodies and rhythms were introduced, and Harry could feel, and hear, and see, the splendour of Hogwarts. The music surpassed any he had heard before. It was _old_. Incredibly so, and it was simply wonderful. Harry was at a loss to summarise his feelings. He was just glad this was his new home, and he would live in this magical place, alive with its song.

The boats passed under a veil of vines and everyone got out of the boats. In a dream Harry followed the group through a door, up some stairs and into a room to wait.

It took Harry a second to snap out of his magic induced daze, but he swiftly realised they were waiting for the sorting. Harry had no preference for a house, but the other students around him were having an avid discussion about the sorting and the houses.

It didn't strike Harry that it was strange he hadn't talked to anyone at all, except the toad boy. For you see, Harry Potter, or Bolt as he was called, stood alone. He trusted only one person, and that was himself. He could rely on himself, and he didn't need anyone else. He was looking out for only one person.

A severe looking woman came into the room. She had a very meticulous controlled magic, and Harry immediately knew that you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of this woman. There was something else about her, which he couldn't quite place. She had another, differing melody woven into her magic. It was strange…

She quickly explained the process of sorting. Harry listened, storing the information away, but couldn't help but be amused at the whole "your house will be your family" thing. Harry Potter had no family.

She led them down a hallway and into a magnificent hall, adorned with candles and with no visible ceiling. Harry knew of this ceiling charm, since it was mentioned in _Hogwarts, A History_. That didn't stop bushy haired girl pointing it out though. God, she was irritating.

Along four tables in the hall sat the students. There were more than he had expected really. It seemed his year was quite small, as his mathematics based on his year size hadn't worked out.

At the end of the hall, perpendicular to the other tables, sat the teachers at their own table. Hagrid was there, but so was the person Harry had most wished to see. The man who had defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. The man who had headed the light side for over 50 years. Albus Dumbledore.

And he was worth it. Resplendent in deep blue robes dotted with comets, complete with a matching hat, a long white beard and an aura of great power about him, he was everything Harry had expected of the "greatest wizard of the age".

Harry, his attention returning to the ceremony, watched as a battered hat was placed on a stool. It had magic in it, and was ancient, but Harry couldn't determine what it did. He didn't need to though, as it soon opened at a rip, like a mouth, and sang:

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends;  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

Everyone burst into applause at the end of this and Harry was watching in puzzlement as the first of the first years put on the hat and was placed in HUFFLEPUFF!

The hat must be using some form of legilimency, determined Harry, as he watched the line of first years grow less and less.

The bushy haired girl, who was apparently called Hermione Granger, ended up in GRYFFINDOR! As did the toad boy, or Neville Longbottom if you went by his birth name (although Harry wasn't entirely sure which was worse). Draco Malfoy was placed in SLYTHERIN! Which to Harry seemed to be quite fitting for a 'pureblood', or at least it did based on what he had read.

Soon it was his turn and when his name was called out by the severe woman (Professor McGonagall), whispers spread through the hall. As the hat was dropped over his eyes, Harry could see straining necks, and even McGonagall herself trying to get a decent look at him.

"What have we here then?" came an inquiringly little voice. "A Potter! Haven't had one of you in a long time, but your different!"

"My upbringing may have been a bit different" Harry replied sarcastically. The hat didn't seem all that bothered.

"You have HUGE potential, boy! Intelligence, power, resourcefulness… the list goes on. You've had a hard life, I know. It has made you more prepared though. Less naïve than the usual bunch of brats, at any rate. You could go anywhere and you would do well. I wouldn't consider Hufflepuff though. That's pretty safe to rule out, since you have _major_ trust issues. But oh! Such a mind I haven't seen in _decades_."

"Are you going to pick a house any time soon?" grumbled Harry, all to aware that this was taking a long time and that, judging by the whispers, people were growing restless.

"Anxious, aren't you? Well this is important. Let's see…a magic listener! You can hear magic! You're just making my century, you are. Gosh, what choices. You would do well in Ravenclaw, for you seek knowledge in the extreme, but I feel you would be over-directed there. All houses have their down points you know, and Ravenclaw can be a _bit_ forceful at time. I feel you need more of a free reign. So that leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hmm…"

By that point Harry had given up trying to stop the hat's chatter, and was just trying to ignore the increasingly loud muttering from the rest of the school.

"You have ambition. Oh yes, such a lot of that. But it is not necessarily for your own means. You help people, though you don't particularly want to. Slytherin would move you up in the world no doubt, but I can't help but think a part of your capabilities would be…how do I say it… squashed, I guess. Looking at your position, I feel, with your Slytherin qualities ironically, you would make best use of Gryffindor. You have values, and morals, and you stand up for the little man. You're not stupid though… in Gryffindor you would fill the "perfect image" of "the boy who lived", but, and I'm just saying here, you would be able to use that situation for a greater means…a Slytherin in Gryffindor. Hmm, it would risky, but better for you I feel. Ok, lets make it (and I hope this works out for you, since it has been a really difficult choice)…. GRYFFINDOR!"

#Finally updated. Took a while. Little longer than usual. Even though Harry is in Gryffindor, it doesn't mean he'll follow the same path, or even a similar one. Don't worry, I have lots of plans…


	9. The First Weeks

# So it only took me a lifetime to update. Sorry about that. But exams are here so this provides a useful distraction to studying. As always, I own nothing at all.

The first few weeks at Hogwarts were not exactly what Harry had expected. There were a number of reasons for this.

Although Harry had been aware that he was, in some sense, famous, he hadn't realised to what extent. He most certainly had not been prepared for the stares and whispers that seemed to follow him wherever he went. For someone who had spent most of his life relatively unnoticed, it was a bit of a shock. Not to mention hugely annoying.

This strange ailment of being so utterly star-struck seemed to affect most of the students, and not a few of the teachers. His own dorm mates, most particularly the redheaded Ron (or Ronald, which made Harry laugh inwardly), were in awe of his presence. They would talk hesitantly, and, indeed, the toad boy (Harry couldn't seem to think of him as anything else) seemed hesitant to talk at all. Much to Harry's relief, however, it wore off to some extent after they realised that being Harry Potter didn't mean he didn't eat and piss like the rest of them.

The adoration from the rest of the school mostly went away as well, chiefly due to the fact that Harry had the skill of making himself unnoticed, developed over his long years of thievery and law-breaking. When some of his teachers felt they had to point out his fame, Harry became exasperated. As teachers they should practice equality. Professor Flitwick, though cheery and a fair enough teacher, did not help with his over enthusiastic chirps.

The other thing about Hogwarts that surprised Harry was the sort of things he was learning. Coming from a non-magical upbringing, he had expected to be worse than the other students. They had the advantage, as they were born into magic and had grown up around it. Harry had only known of magic for one month, and had hardly spoken to magical people before Hogwarts.

This, however, was not the case. In fact, Harry found himself better than the magic-born, or purebloods and half bloods as they were called, a lot of the time. There were a few, of course, that boasted of being able to perform spells before they could walk. Harry could believe some of these stories, but when he heard Vincent Crabbe (or Troll 1 as Harry had christened him) telling Gregory Goyle (Troll 2) about his magic skills surpassing his reading skills aged five the usually composed Harry Potter burst out in laughter. As far as he could tell, Troll 1 didn't seem able to read, so what that said about his magic…

So when the first classes came around Harry was pleased. The material wasn't challenging at all. In fact, it was downright easy. Transfiguration, though easy, was proving to be the most interesting.

On the day of his first lesson he had followed the transfiguration teacher, McGonagall, from the Great Hall after breakfast, so as to avoid getting lost. He followed very discretely though. It would not do for people to see Harry Potter reliant on someone else to find his way. Harry Potter, or, more importantly, Bolt, needed no help. After finding his way the first time he would know the way ever after. His mental map, only increased by his beginnings of occlumency, would lead the way ever after.

Once in the classroom Harry took a seat in the back corner, furthest away from the teacher's desk and half hidden in shadows. It was also near the door, Harry had noted with satisfaction.

The class soon filed in, with a few desks still noticeably empty. When the redhead and Harry's Irish dorm mate (Seamus Finnegan) marched in five minutes late, clearly out of breath, Harry frowned. Idiots, he couldn't help think. Hadn't they noticed the cat?

Harry had. As soon as he walked in the classroom and sat down he had recognised the uptight tabby sitting on the desk for what it really was. He then realised the strange music he had heard from McGonagall at the feast. Then, there had been a different strand of music woven into her usual music (which was of a nice complexity). In the form of a cat, her usual music was woven into the different music. In different forms, different magic took preference, but it was always the same magic.

It didn't take Harry long to realise McGonagall was an animagus. He had read about them over the summer, and knew the immense difficulty involved in becoming one. He could learn things from her, no doubt.

What made Harry wonder, however, was the fact that no one else in the class seemed to know the cat was the teacher. Indeed, Hermione Granger was staring at her wristwatch and tssking really quite loudly. Couldn't they hear that the cat was McGonagall? It was obvious! Perhaps they couldn't listen as well as he could…

So when Professor McGonagall changed back to human form, although impressed, Harry wasn't surprised. The rest of the class seemed to be, as did Harry's dorm mates, who got told off quite firmly. McGonagall was not one to cross.

"Transfiguration" McGonagall began once the class settled down, "is one of the most difficult arts you will learn at Hogwarts, and you will be expected, by the end of your schooling here, to be fairly proficient. For that reason, I expect _all _of you to take this class _seriously_".

And so the lesson had started. After outlining some principles of the subject, matches were handed out to be turned into needles. Harry was a bit unimpressed at the level of complexity, but figured it was an aptitude test of sorts.

Needless to say, Harry transfigured the match on his first shot, becoming a needle with a perfectly formed point and a good shine.

Professor McGonagall, who had been strolling around the class, giving tips and correcting mistakes, stopped at Harry's desk and stared for a good minute, or so it seemed.

She wordlessly picked up the needle and looked at it. She then said to Harry "I must say Mr. Potter, this is the finest first attempt transfiguration I have ever seen. The details are flawless, and the metal composition… Well done indeed. Show me the spell again and I shall reward Gryffindor house five points if it is just as good a piece of spell work."

Harry raised an eyebrow in disdain. It was quite obvious she wanted to be sure he wasn't cheating. Ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts people had been treating him like an imbecile. It was getting tiring.

He didn't say anything however, and, his mask firmly in place, simply transfigured the new match she had produced. He once again performed it effortlessly. The five points were duly handed out, and Harry had also received a particularly vicious stare from Hermione Granger, whose hair seemed to get bushier as she got more irritated. It was definitely a theory Harry wanted to follow up.

To Harry's slight surprise all the classes followed this vein. Charms was easy, astronomy was easy, herbology was easy (quite boring though), defence against the dark arts was disappointing and also boring. In fact, most classes were boring. Harry sat through them organising his mind according to his occlumency books or reading his much more advanced spell books.

There were two exceptions to the rule. One was potions.

Potions, Harry had initially thought, would be an ok class. The potions he had read about in his numerous potions books, including certain poisons and deceptions, had certainly been interesting, and also quite useful as well.

The process, on paper at least, seemed simple. In fact, the closest muggle comparison Harry could think of was actually cooking, and that had never been a hard task from him, although he did acknowledge that many, _many _people struggled to make at the least edible toast. Nonetheless, potions did promise some entertaining mixtures and reactions.

Indeed, Harry had thought of many applications of certain potions to assist him on a few endeavours. Yes, potions had promised many things. Harry had not, however, factored in one crucial component- Snape.

On the day of his first class Harry entered the class quietly, slipping into a desk near the back. Even from that point it hadn't looked promising. The dark, dingy dungeon was dirty, smoky and smelt pretty awful- generally an unpleasant place altogether. A poor location did not bode well for the experience as a whole.

Harry's gut instinct had been right (as it always was). Just as the last person had seated himself (Weasley again) there was a resounding bang as a door in the back flew open. Out swept the teacher, one Severus Snape.

Harry's first impressions weren't great- the man obviously loved himself. The dramatics of the door and the black cloak swirling up behind him were the mark of an arrogant man.

As Snape talked about potions in a very theatrical manner, Harry couldn't help but feel foreboding. He was right to do so.

Severus Snape, for no reason that Harry could tell, absolutely detests Harry Potter. On that first day of class he sneered, deducted points and generally attacked Harry.

He attempted to enter Harry's mind, something Harry was absolutely _furious_ about. But, per usual Bolt reactions, he didn't show that anything was off, and merely avoided the man's eyes. But, Harry thought, he now had a reason to hate Snape right back.

There was also something strange about his magic. It seemed… like there was another magic, a strong, tainted magic that was controlling it, setting the beat, the chords. It made Harry shiver.

Potions itself was easy. Harry was paired with Neville Longbottom, however, which made it slightly more difficult. The boy was _terrified_. He was shaking, and barely paying attention to the fairly easy potion.

"Calm down", said Harry. "Just go slowly and _think_. He's not _that_ scary. I'll look out for you, don't worry". Harry felt sorry for the poor boy. Even their fellow dorm mates picked him on, along with everyone else. He needed a friend.

"S-sorry, Harry. I'm just rubbish at this", the boy stuttered nervously.

"You're not rubbish, it's only our first lesson. Now just do as I say and it'll be fine."

With these words of comfort they made it through the lesson. The potion they made even turned out nicely, much to Snape's disgust.

As they walked to the Great Hall for lunch, Neville said, "How do you know the way around here, Harry? I always get lost. I'm just so forgetful".

"You get used to the routes. I can help you round if you like? We can find our way together". The look on Neville's face was so grateful, Harry found it pitiful. Did he really have so few friends? Harry decided at that point that he would help Neville as much as he could. No one deserved such a pitiful existence.

That day Harry and Neville ate lunch together. As he was eating, Harry further observed Neville's music. He had thought, when he first heard it, that it was weak. And it was, but there _was_ something else. He couldn't tell what- he didn't really know enough about magic to tell yet. He would learn though.

Being surrounded by the beautiful music of Hogwarts, Harry was learning more and more everyday. The music just swirled around him, and made so much sense, more sense than anything else Harry had ever experienced in his life. The longer he spent at Hogwarts, the more he knew he was meant to be there.

Lessons continued much the same. In Charms he once again stunned the teacher when he performed an incredibly easy, mundane spell. Harry was beginning to realise how much better he was than everyone else. In fact, he would sit with Neville after every lesson and attempt to teach him what they had learned once again.

It was during these times they really became friends. It was strange for Harry, who never really had friends, more acquaintances, but Neville was so grateful to Harry for helping Harry, and Harry enjoyed Neville's quiet, unassuming company. It was also good to have a wizard's perspective on life.

With Harry's help, Neville soon became quite good, and Harry could tell he was gaining some quiet confidence. Together they did their homework, which was really very easy, and worked through the classes.

One class, however, that Harry absolutely refused to attend, was History of Magic. After the first excruciatingly boring lesson, Harry just stopped turning up. He could learn just as well by reading the subject material. One person who had a problem with this was Hermione Granger.

"You can't just skip lessons! It's against the _rules_! We'll lose _house points_!", she hissed.

"Of course I can. And we won't lose any points", Harry answered without looking up from his book. They were in the library, and Hermione was trying to staying quiet as well as portray her fury. The effects really were quite interesting. On par with Harry's previous theory, her hair just got frizzier and frizzier. Neville looked mildly perturbed by the whole look.

"I'll tell on you! I will! What you're doing is wrong!"

"If you tell on me then we _will_ lose points. And you will be known forever as a little snitch. So just keep quiet about something that doesn't really affect you, and get on with whatever you do", Harry bit back. He needed to pacify, however, so he invited her to do her homework with them.

The one word that could truly capture Hermione Granger was 'homework'. She stood for a second, red-faced, and then sat down promptly, starting a discussion with Neville on the latest herbology homework. Herbology was the one subject Neville showed natural aptitude at, and so the discussion was a good one.

At the end of his first few weeks at Hogwarts, settled in and fairly content with the situation, Harry looked back on the summer, and how much his life had changed. He was on his way, and ready for whatever life threw at him. And what was getting thrown next, according to a note on the notice board, was flying lessons…

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Albus Dumbledore had spent the first few weeks watching one student very closely.

He smiled when Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, though glad there had been some time in this decision; Harry appeared to have qualities from more than house, always a good sign.

He watched Harry make his way around the school, confident yet quiet.

He listened to the teachers' reports on the first classes; Harry exceeded all his expectations on his skills and intelligence.

He notice with concern Harry's cold demeanour, but was soon reassured when the boy showed unusual compassion for an eleven year old when he befriended and helped young Neville Longbottom. Their further friendship pleased him greatly.

He observed Harry's glee of the magic around him- the way he settled so completely into Hogwarts, becoming a part of the castle.

All in all, Albus Dumbledore mused, it was going well. And Harry was such an interesting character, everything he could have hoped and wished for. Indeed, perhaps he should introduce himself to the boy, find out more…


End file.
